NoBody's Home
by AysheSmith
Summary: He couldn't tell you why she felt that way,she felt it everyday.He can't help.What's wrong,just too many problems.She wants to go home but nobody's home.It's where she lies broken inside.No place to go to dry her eyes.Be strong now,just too many problems.
1. Preface: The Way She Is

A/N:

so i know i have alot of stories going on and i am currently stopping bleeding roses and towers bc im having writers block on them. and i was just listen to music and had a suddern urge to write. i thought i was going to write some on CCC but instead the words started to flow and it just came to me so i am going to take towers off my list and CCC because im not yet ready to start those stories. i need to get out of the block and i wont be updating BR for a while bc i have to get through that too. i am just going to work on this. its my little project and its going to good. slightly depressing and upsetting but good. i wasnt sure if i wanted to make it a twilight story or just my own story just i kinda like how i am going with this. so please stay for the ride and im sorry if i disappoint... special shout out to HEATHER! you know who you are =] i adore her and she makes me feel special! so yea all stories on hold except this one. thanks for reading now im going to shutup and get on with it..

btw i strongly suggest that you should listen to nobodys home by avril lavigne bc she gave me the idea and shes just awesome. =]

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Title:

NoBody's Home

Preface:

The way she feels…

She wants to go home, go home with him again, be with him by her side, so she won't feel that lonely suffocating agony that takes her when she looks beside her and he is no longer there.

Her only home now is with her dad, her dad that can't even care for his self from his addiction, from his addiction to torturing her with sorrow, for he is the one responsible for death.

She is lost inside, her faith no more; she can't handle the agony that beats her down every day, killing her slowly with the feeling of despair.

He can't help her, even thought he thinks he can, no one can take his loyal place by her side, so he tries to love her, make her whole again, to no avail.

She don't know where she belongs, where she can dry her eyes, she hides her feelings, her dreams she can't find, she's losing her mind slowly and now she has fallen behind.

He watches her make the same mistakes over and over again, killing her inside, he tells her to be strong, open your eyes, find the reasons why, but she rejects, she can't find what has been left behind.

She has no place to go; she's lost her grace, for he is gone from her world.

She's broken inside.

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that is just the preface my chapter will be at least 3k words probably more than 5k im trying to do at least 10k for each chapter so they will only be updated like... once every two weeks or something im going to try to do it every other sunday. sorry if im late though.

if this is good then review and yea.. tell me what you want to see. im already on the first chapter.

got the words from avril lavigne.

so yea disclaimer!! for everything except the plot and ideas that i did come up with O.O


	2. Chapter 1:No Place To Go

A/N: Okay its been like a month or forever but i wanted to get this perfected and well itsnot obvisiously...but im without a beta and i walked to end this right but i tink itwas a good endng i mean the next chapteris where it doess get all juicy ad entertainng ^.^

hmm shoud edward come or not come into the next chapter? its yals decision.

okay ill stop babbling =]

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Title:

NoBody's Home

Chapter One:

No Place To Go

"The past always gets forgotten and soon the memories will fade with the everlasting depth of the heart's pain."

I walk through the worn down yellow door of the little old blue house at the end of the road on the right of Eller Street. I step over the empty threshold of this awful hellhole that I have come home too; except it's not home, it will never be home again. I wipe the dreadful tears from my pink swollen face, pulling close the ragged door, and walking down the empty hall, towards the small yellow kitchen and the mahongy table that I know I will find him sitting in that small chair that he always sat at 6 years ago. The same table he was sitting at when I walked out that door six years ago with James. I look up from the oak wooden floors to see him sitting there, looking down at the wooden table with sorrow filled eyes. But I am not about to let him get off the hook for leaving me at the bus stop 16 miles from here and I had to walk home in the pouring rain that was now dripping from my soaking clothes, dripping onto the oak hardwood floors and pooling around my soggy ankles. I glare, blaming him for my troubles, blaming him for taking away the only real thing that made my life worth living. As I stare at him, he does not even look up at me once, just stares at the table with those awful eyes that saw the last living image of my brother before he hit that stupid truck. It's his fault that there is a whole in my heart now, for he is the one responsible for taking my brother out of my life. He wants to blame everyone else for his mistake, but if he wouldn't have been an ass and made us move out, James wouldn't have gotten him to pick him up from the bus stop, knowing he was probably drunk and couldn't drive. If he wouldn't have pushed and shoved at us until we couldn't take it anymore and left, James wouldn't have been down here visiting him and I wouldn't be here now without a brother anymore. He sits there, not looking at me, just staring and soon I can't take any more of his silence, any more of this empty place here.

"You didn't pick me up." I accuse, glaring at his flinching from my voice, from actual sound in this paralyzing silence. He finally looks up at me and frowns, looking like he doesn't know who his own daughter is. Which in reality he shouldn't, because he hasn't seen me since I walked out of that door six years ago. I hide my emotions from my face, refusing to show that I am vulnerable to this half ass of a man. I steel myself for a yelling, knowing he will accuse me for not warning him to come early just in case he forgot, but he just stares at me blankly, looking like half of a dead man in that stupid dark wooden seat. I huff out a ball of air that was lodged from my lungs and turn toward the carpeted stair case, walking up the stairs to my old bedroom, the same bedroom I had six years ago in this awful house. I trudge up the stairs frowning, dreading living in this same house again. It wasn't really that great the first time. I feel time turn back, as I walk down the lonely hall, the same hall that leads to my bedroom. I feel myself turn into that 11 year old again, crying and sad, just wanting her daddy to love her like he should. Instead he pushed her, made her woman up, and even made his own son take punch after punch from those drunken nights. All I ever wanted was for my dad to love me, to not push me around like a little dog. Instead he killed my heart and when James asked me if I wanted to go live with mom, I was all too happy at the thought of getting out of here to even consider it. So James visited like the good son he was while I refused to even talk to my fuckig father and so we stayed with mom until two weeks ago James was late for the bus and had to get dad to pick him up, knowing he was already drinking and probably drunk, that was the night my brother was killed by my own father. The time falls back and into the present I am seeing the same blue door that use to be my sanctuary. I place my small hand on the brass door knob as my breathing increases to shuddering gasps. I grip knob with extensive force, fighting back the panic that swells in my chest, and turning the knob dreadfully. As I open the door slowly, I look at the room that hasn't changed one bit after six years, even the dirty clothes in the hamper that I left in there, haven't even been washed. I look at the small twin size bed, yellow clothed curtains, oak wooden floors, and my old oak desk I use to do my homework on. I look over at the small window with the window seat under it, imagining how I use to write in my diary every night while sitting there then looking up at the stars in misery.

The same old quilt that was my grandmother's, still lies on my bed rumpled in some parts. The old wooden rocking chair in the corner has slits down the frames and the old green rug beside my bed has dirt all over it, making it look like no one has even touched the place in years. I walk over to the desk slowly and wipe it with my finger, coming back up with it covered it dust particles. I set my stuff down on the disgusting floor, realizing this place needs a lot of cleaning to be suitable. I walk over towards the window seat, wiping it off before sitting down and thinking, just thinking about anything at all. But the only thing that can come to mind is James's face, his handsome loving face. I feel the first of tears since being here and I let them fall down my cheeks and into my soaking clothes gratefully. It feels so good just to let the emotions out instead of holding them and being strong for your mother or friends. Your mother who just committed suicide because she couldn't take the pain of losing a child, even though her other one needed her, she didn't care as long as she could get away from the misery; away from the aching agony of losing a loved one. I just lost my brother and yet here I am, with my father because I had the guts to be able to feel the feelings I feel and still go on with life; unlike the coward my mother was.

I whip my cheeks with the trembling hands that are mine and get up slowly from my perch at the window seat. I walk over towards my old bed, with my grandmother's quilt on it. I place my shaking hand on the quilts fabric, feeling the smooth texture of my grandma's sewing. I sit down on the bed slowly so my action doesn't stir the dust particles that lay on top of the bed. I look around this dusty loft of a room, my room, and feel the same old emotions I use to feel when I lived here with James. God, do I miss him. I miss how we use to play music together, how we use to do random things like cliff diving or rock climbing because he had a sudden urge to feel invincible, to feel like nothing could ever hurt him and I went with him because that was just how our relationship worked. When I would feel a need to cry or be strong, he would always be there for me, making sure I felt like I could handle anything; be invincible. We were alike, but so different from each other. We learned different things from each other, learning how to be each other's strong point in a situation. We were best friends.

I cry that night, I cry myself to sleep, not caring about the dust or how suffocating it feels in this room. Because this is the only place I have to go, the only place that I can say I live at, and yet I don't really live here because my heart died when James did. So I fluff out my pillow from the dust and whip off my bed, feeling like a lost child when I do so. And when I wake in the morning I feel no different from last night. I wake up sunlight coming through my yellow curtains, making my eyes burn from being awake when I clearly just want to sleep. I look over at the black alarm clock and the shinning red numbers that state six thirty in the morning. Groaning as I shove the covers off turn towards my bedroom door. As I walk towards the blue door, the actual door starts pounding and I look at it confused.

"Bella wake up!" My father yells at me and stops pounding on my blue door, I hear his footsteps turn around and walk down the stairs, probably into the kitchen. I huff, wondering why I need to be up six thirty in the morning and also angered that those are the first words that have come out of my father's mouth since I have arrived. I look up my white ceiling, wondering why, just why couldn't I have been born into a normal family where my mother wasn't unstable and had to kill herself, or my brother isn't resting in a coffin 6 feet under the ground. Why couldn't my mother keep me instead of sending me to the insane man that I've hated all my life? A song comes to my head as I think of how my father is like, how his personality is so fucked up that even his own son hated him, took punch after punch from him because he couldn't stand seeing his sister get hit; abused. Is this how life is supposed to be like? Awful and unwilling to live on? But here I stand in the same room that I 'woman upped' in, wishing I was somewhere else, but I gave up wishing when I was 3 and my mother left because she couldn't take the abuse or her kid's cries for their mommy to make the monster stop hitting them. Is that what a mother really is? Just a lonesome coward who can't deal with trouble when it comes their way. Well that's what my mother was and now since her son died that she oh so loved so much, she didn't even look at his old bedroom door before she decided death was better than being strong for your grieving daughter. The light that used to be her spirit died with my brother and nothing was left in her soul for me to be happy with, so I chose my abusing, asshole of a father over my lifeless mother and soon I didn't have a choice to change my mind because I ended up going to two funerals that week. That is why I am staring at my old white ceiling, wondering what James would do now. Would he try to be happy, make things work out for the best? Or would he get depressed, try to channel everyone out, knowing he can't be happy without his other half; me.

Yes, James was my other half, the true other half of my soul that was always missing until I met him. See, I didn't meet him when I was born, no. I met him when mother brought him back from the adoption service, crying saying she finally found her little boy who was taken from her. Yea, I don't think my mother was ever really all that sane. The craziest thing was, he looked exactly like dad and he was actually their son, my brother. He didn't know how the family worked, how dad would sneak into my room at night and touch me in places that scared me. How he would make me take off my pajamas and crawl into bed with him as he 'checked me out'. It was on a Friday night that James came and slept with me, crawling into my bed and cuddling up to me because he was afraid of the monsters under his bed and didn't want his little sister to have to deal with them all alone. He always said two people are stronger than one. So we stayed in bed together and talked about our favorite foods or how we like purple instead of green and blue. That was when he came into my room and looked at us in the bed together, that Friday night thirteen years ago when I was only four years old and James was six, it was that night when I experienced for the first time just how hard my father could hit. That was the first night that James found out what my father did to me every night and actually stood up for me; he was my knight in shining armor, the only true hero that ever entered my life.

My father tried to come for me, swigging his arms and raising his voice, trying to scare James and me. The whole time I was thinking where is my mother, who is suppose to protect me, the woman who cares for her children no matter what. She was nowhere to be found and my father was going to hurt me because James wanted to sleep in my bed that night. What suddenly surprised me was when he stood up on the bed and put himself in front of me, protecting me from the scary man that I call my father. I was a little girl but what I saw that night changed my life because I actually had someone who cared for me more than anything else.

I blink away the first of tears as they try to come out of my eyes and down my warm cheeks that just want desperately to just have one day without tears. The past is the past and memories never stay. I think to myself that today will be different and I will smile and be happy, I will perform to try to be happy. If people ask me how I am doing, I will say fine and smile the fake smile I have been doing for the last few weeks. No one will see the sadness in my eyes or the way my eyes will drop and I won't look them in the eye. They will say, 'she is shy', making up an excuse because they really don't care how you are doing and they never really want an answer. I won't let the tears fall and as I start to walk towards the blue door again, I blink hard once and the trader tears vanish as the sadness goes back into its hole that lives in my heart.

I grip the handle in my pale shaky hand and turn the knob, already knowing the big company owner of the only fancy restaurant is already there making sure everything is working right, before he goes off to the police station where he is also chief of police. You'll never guess how he got so much money to build a fancy restaurant right in the middle of our small town. Well, see there is a little bit of life insurance when my brother and mother died in contrast and my father had to deal with me, so he got twenty six thousand for my mother and seventeen for James. I only got about five thousand of that for college and then he bought me my favorite car and the only reason he knew was because me and James would talk about cars in front of him at dinner. So I now have a '69 corvette stingray with a V8 engine and white. Oh yes, it is also convertible. So that is how he tried to start our refound relationship by buying me off with a car.

I open the door slightly and peek out, making sure he isn't at least in the halls wondering why I am not out and about already. He would probably smack me across the face and say I had it coming; nothing new there. I look down the beige walls that carry the pictures my mother put up long ago when she still lived her. The paintings of valleys and beautiful trees run down the hall as they mingle with pictures of our fake family smiling up at the camera as though we were perfect. The dust is layered upon the pictures making them look cloudy as though on a rainy day. As the thought of rain forms in my mind I also start to hear the drizzle that I was tuning out, as it pit pats on the shingled roof, reminding me of the memories I try to make fade away. I remember running down these halls with James when we were just little kids, chasing each other and playing hide and seek. I would always win, since I was smaller and could fit into little places. I smile as I remember one time James couldn't find me and went and told mom, scared that I would think he would never find me. She smiled down at him, reassuring that he looked hard enough he would find me. Her exact words were 'James think like you're sister. Now where would she hide that you would never think of?' And since James was always the smart one, he went over to the green food pantry and opened the doors, looking at the little space at the bottom where I was hiding. 'Got you!' he yelled and ran away so I wouldn't jump on him and tickle his small tummy. Mom just laughed at us, shaking her head and looking back over her work as though we were actually a happy family. That was when dad wasn't home and mom would love us like a real mother was supposed to.

One of the few happy memories I have of us together was that, playing just like any other kids while their mother looked after them, making sure they didn't get hurt before she started dinner. That is until dad came home and started yelling because his dinner wasn't ready before the game was on. I look down the lonely hall with a feeling of the upmost sorrow. I let it settle in my heavy chest as I walk down the hall of memories and down the teak stairs that lead to the living room. As I reach the landing I turn right through the arch in the wall leading to the small kitchen where my dad usually sits. The kitchen is the same as it use to be, white window seals and the windows have olive green curtains hanging around them letting some of the sun in. they are painted the same color, a pale yellow, it's just a little more damaged then the last time I saw it. I look at the table only to find a piece of white paper laying there and the cereal out on the table with a bowl and spoon waiting there for a person to eat their breakfast. I walk over to the little table and look down at the note, reading it as it says 'Bella you have school and it starts at 7:45. Don't be late and here is your breakfast. –dad'. I blink not really believing that my dad actually took time to sit out breakfast for me and write me a note as to why I am supposed to wake up this early. The morning is still groggy with my sleepily eyes as they wanted nothing more than to trudge back up those stupid stairs and fall into a longingly and blissfully sleep. I want to lay in bed until noon, victoriously feeling every bit of pity for myself as I can without seeming like a little heart struck prat. Which in total reality is what I fully am, as I am aware that even though with all my fucking desire of that beautiful little peaceful world I just created, I have to go to school, dealing with raging hormonal teenagers who will gawk at me and whisper just loud enough for me to fully under what they are talking about me behind my back. Or is it really behind my back if they propel their voice loud enough for me to hear? Either way they know that I know that they are talking about so I will finally get sick of it, go up and correct their misinterpreted information with the truthful facts. Well they are sadly mistaken. My life will not become an open book for curious observers to come and look into, shrieking in fear as they read the real horrors of my sullen life, then flee without a backward glance of what they just left behind.

So I go dress myself in flattering yet comfortable clothing so I don't feel like a glorious picture people tediously stare at all day. Is that being self conscious or possibly low self esteem? I think it is being truthful to the fact that I parade my beauty and body in disgusting fashion like whores do so many times a day till it gets quite sickening. Feeling more like a sour thumb then a girl starting a new school where there could actually be the possibility of actual friends, not the friends who want to know you because of your intellectual brains as they copy your homework a huge smile saying, 'you're the best'. What mostly makes this morning literal hell is that he didn't even say sorry? My dad just woke me up, wrote me a letter, but didn't have the fucking balls to say p.s. sorry Bella for killing your brother. As if his empty words would even be meaningful to me. But the thought still counts right? Apparently not to him. I muster my pain through anger as I throw on clothes that match and converses because really why dress up when it's pouring rain everywhere outside? I stress about what kind of coat I should wear under my raincoat when I realize this is stupidly like a regular teenager whose biggest concern is which lip gloss looks better on her lips. I refuse to consort to THAT kind of pathetic and just grab my average dark blue Abercrombie & Fitch jacket quickly as I grab my jack the skeleton raincoat. I mean the jack is the all time man of the pumpkin patch I just can't completely forget about him on my first day of school. Okay now I'm sounding immature and childish with a hint of stubbornness which I refuse to wear to school just because I don't really want to admit how much pain I'm supporting between this skin and muscle tissue till you fine a flat pulsed heart that somehow slowly beats with misery. I mean how are you suppose to move on after half of your soul has died? How am I suppose to find happiness, love, a family, although I never really believed I would one day get the idealism of the American dream with children, a golden lassie, and a white fucking picket fence. That is a silly dream to waste when you can just dream of more un-impossible things while resting your eyes.

I walk out the front door and I stop in the middle of the fucking threshold as I stare at a monstrosity of a big red truck. Those are the only words to describe it as I look out in horror at what my father, Charlie Swan, expects his daughter to drive to school in. I would rather fucking walk in the damn rain and get soaked then stick on little foot into that truck that screams death bed just waiting to happen for me. But that isn't the most horrific thing about this monstrosity. What the most disgusting thing about it is that I can still see where is actually hit the truck and where the windshield was replaced because my brother cracked his skull open from hitting that thing so hard.

HE WANTS ME TO DRIVE THE FUCKING CAR THAT KILLED MY BROTHER.

My tear flow more urgently as I look at the ugly thing in sorrow. How my own father do this to me? Of course me asking that question is idiotic because he probably didn't realize that I still loved my brother so very much.

Instead of walking to the most disturbing thing in my life, I turn around, quickly lock the door and head down the sidewalk where I'll know it will take me to my school. So I walk at a steady pace as I trudge down the wet pavement, the rain making my hair frizz under its shelter of my hood. I look around the unnatural green earth as I walk on. It makes me think that as if I'm not really on earth anymore, as if I'm on a different planet far away from the hurt and pain I feel. A planet where there is only happiness and jovially.

The sound of cars passing and rain sloshing underneath the tires sounds almost soothing until it hits me. I listen to the cars go by and quickly step out of the way before the spray hits me until I hear not natural speeding tires trying to get their owners to work and school as fast as they can; but something new, a car slowing down. I look behind me as I see a red BMW M3 convertible slowing until a crawl, matching my past as a lovely Barbie like, perfect blonde rolls down her window and assess me. I mean hello, I am wearing Abercrombie and Fitch with a Gucci bag. I'm not totally fashion challenged. Her perfect eyebrow quirks as she can't comprehend why I am wearing a $620 purse, but have no car. I smile and shrug my shoulder, 'My dad bought me a truck.' I simply state before quirking an eyebrow as to ask why she stopped. Her smile shows me that understands how most women not all but a lot prefer smaller faster cars. "Would you like a ride to school? I presume your walking towards the lovely Forks high?" She questions her voice as graceful as her hair that falls around her shoulders in a slight golden halo. I smile even more genially because, like me, she seems to hate forks as much as I do. So I let her take me to school in her convertible even though she keeps the top up. She talks and laughs as I do, about the stupid idiotic town that we are stuck in.

"By the way, my name is Rosalie Hale. Pleasure to make your acquaintance or have I said so often maybe it was fate that I saw you trudging through the rain soaking wet. She muses and parks her car into what is known as Forks high. I release a strangled breath as I notice all the curious people standing around her car in awe as she flips her hair expertly and flashes everyone a smile before joining me on my side to walk towards the door as further known as my future and present school. Of course the best thing that can happen today is if I end up in a raging case of diarrhea and puking my guts up like some bulimic bitch. Joy to the world that that is probably what will exactly fucking happen.

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So was it really really bad to where i need to dunk my head into ice cold water which will make some unnessisary things happen that i would not appreciate?

ok ok ok stoppp babbling lisha!

anyways just uhh tell what shit it is or if its actually worth continuing =]

Ta-Ta im ff t woderlanwith alice and tinkerbell ^.^


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